After All
by milgarion
Summary: After an accident takes her parents away from her, the last person she has in this world comes to take her home.
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place years after the books/film. It fairly safe to say its AU, and will most likely become M rated. Hope you enjoy, feedback is always welcome. **

She barely noticed him the first time she'd looked up, her mind fully on the paper in front of her, hand shielding her eyes from the sun that slanted through the large windows, highlighting the crisp white paper and her neat black script upon it. The knock on the door was hardly unusual, their classes were often disturbed with the low voices of their tutors conversing at the front of the room, but she couldn't ignore the soft call of her name.

She squinted at the figures, her tutor holding a single sheet of paper in his hand, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. It took her a full five seconds to recognise him, perhaps it was because he was wearing normal clothes, it could have been because his hair was a little longer, or simply because she hadn't seen him for years, had truly never expected to see him here. But the moment she realised who he was she felt the pen slip from her grip, clattering loudly on the desk as his name fell from her lips with shock.

Her chair scraped obnoxiously loud against the floor as she stood, her knees trembling with trepidation and drawing the gaze of everyone in her class, their quiet study session temporarily suspended as she repeated his name. "Dustfinger?"

He shook his head, anticipating her concern. She would have known that he would have been with them, trailing them from a distance. The last copy of the book had been lost long ago, but he'd never quite given up the hope that somehow, somewhere another would turn up, he'd stayed close, knowing that her father still had the habit of closely checking every shelf his eyes roved over, his promise to the trapped wanderer never forgotten. He turned up in their lives every now and then, more and more often over the years, staying for longer each time until he itched for the freedom of the road again. But she had always been away when he had come, and now he was here, unexpected and terrifyingly real as her mind screamed at her, he should be in Italy, following the paths of her parents as they toured the country looking for rare finds.

His hands shook, grasping at her arms as she ran to him, her eyes wide at the look on his face, "Where are they?" She breathed, fingers twisting the soft wool of his jumper as she stared up into his pained eyes. But he said nothing, wary of the eyes on them, of the interest her sudden outburst had caused, her gestured for her to follow him outside, hushing her as she continued her demands, wanting to know why he was here, what had happened.

The latching of the door behind them loosened his tongue and he explained to her quietly, each word carefully chosen as he gently told her that her parents were gone.

The white haze that drifted through her mind blurred his words, turning his story into a dream as he spoke of how there had been an accident, that he hadn't even known for two weeks until he had found his way to her aunts house. The car that they had all been travelling in losing control on the narrow, winding roads that wrapped themselves around the precipitous hills. The local police had had a hard time identifying them, and it was only his growing concern at their absence that had led them to believe that they had found who they were looking for. He had come straight to her, using detestable modern means in order to reach her. She had looked at him then, her eyes shimmering with tears that refused to fall, because to cry would mean it was real.

"And why are you here?"

"To take you home."


	2. Chapter 2

Those first few days were agony, so many hours passing by in a blur as she screamed and cried, alternating between curling up in the window seat and lashing out, flinging books across the room and damning their existence, hating them for the hold they'd had on her family, for drawing them away and leading them on hunts, for guiding them to their deaths. He had sat quietly, enveloped in the shadows as he watched her, only moving to make sure she ate, to fetch her fresh clothes so that when she settled down into her old bed she would be comfortable, never meeting her eyes as she screamed at him, pouring out her hurt and her grief as she fired accusations at him, blaming him for not having been there, that somehow he could have done something. She could see the flicker of pain that her words inflicted on him.

She often wondered if his motives were selfish, clinging desperately to the only thing in this world that was familiar to him. He had changed so much from when she had last known him, and she felt guilty for not listening to her parents when they'd spoke of him, for not asking more questions. She reasoned that it was the gradual realisation that he would never go home that had made him finally accept the world he now lived in, having made himself accustomed to the everyday things that he had once thought magical, although he still treated the television with an air of distrust.

Somehow he had taken control, the shocking immersion into sudden responsibility had clearly had an affect on him, and he fielded phone calls from lawyers and friends, deciding who she was strong enough to talk to and making excuses to those that would only highlight her grief.

He hardly ever spoke unless it was to tell her something directly, instead he would look at her with his own guarded stare, something dark and brooding shadowing his gaze as he moved around her, setting down cups of tea and handing her blankets when she started to shiver.

Sometimes he would leave, would walk the streets for hours, especially in the rain. She suspected that he thought it would hide his tears, his cracking resolve as the utter sense of loss penetrated his heart. At least she was in the right world, in a reality that she understood, could relate to. Sometimes she felt a surge of pity or guilt for him, watching him leave as she sat in the window, her eyes taking in the way his shoulders would fall just a little farther, his step would falter slightly and he would pause, his hand raised to wipe tiredly at his face as though rubbing off the mask he forced himself to wear, swaying minutely before he carried on, his feet taking him on paths she would never walk, returning after the sun had long ago set, turning his face from her so she would not see the redness of his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

She turned twenty one just two weeks after they had died, they would have been back by now, she would have been home from school, her arms folded on the arm of the chair as she smiled, listening to their new stories, they always had stories to tell. She would have pretended this year not to be excited about presents, would have acted grown up and smiled mischievously when offered whatever gift they had wrapped in gossamer and silk, another pretty trinket from a market fair to add to her collection.

But this year she sat nestled in the confines of her blankets, her eyes frozen and unseeing on the rain that trickled down her window pane. She ducked her head when she noticed him in the doorway, the cold weight of his stare heavy on her shoulders as she waited for him to speak, to say anything at all. She wondered if he even knew what today was, that it was supposed to be a special occasion, but instead she found herself suddenly vulnerable, alone and completely independent in the eyes of the law.

She felt a tension in her limbs as he approached her, holding out his hand to her, waiting with a restrained patience as she stared at his hand, her own trembling and cold in his as she let him pull her to her feet, the blanket falling at her feet as he led her from her room, the hallway dark as the night had closed in. she shivered with an odd sort of trepidation, this was the first time he had actually come to her, instigated any sort of communication since he had brought her home, had opened the door with a key she had never known he'd had.

She tried not to think of how warm his hand was around hers, that he felt more real to her now than anything ever had

She smelt the lavender before they even reached the bathroom, a soft light spilling out of the doorway as he stopped shortly, his hand dropping hers as she smiled at the scene that he had made, the beautiful claw foot tub filled and steaming, the pinnacles of bubbles climbing up beyond the rim and shining in the glow of the multitudes of candles that littered the room, the crystal glass that sat on the bench filled with a deep claret. She held her hand to her lips, her heart melting at such a beautifully simple gesture on such a dark and depressing day. She wanted to thank him, to take his hand in hers again and kiss his cheek, but when she turned he had already stepped back, his face once again in the shadows, down turned as he retreated, his soft utterance of "Happy birthday" almost lost in the thick steamy air that wafted from the doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

She couldn't say exactly what it was about him that brought her a sense of comfort. He was distant, quiet. He left her alone when she needed her space, but he was always there when she just needed the presence of someone else in the room. He took care of everything around the house, he even cooked for her, joining her at the table as she ate slowly, her eyes on him as he played morosely with his food, hair pulled back from when he'd been out the back, fixing the loose boards on the porch.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, and she knew that should she ever need to talk he would be there to listen, to sit quietly as she spoke of her broken heart. She had once tried to ask him how he was, to find out whether his quiet resolve was the product of his own soul slowly fading away, but he had just fixed her with that level stare of his, the faintest smile curling his lips as he shook his head. He had left soon after, heading out into the night to god knows where, leaving her wondering if she had done something wrong.

It was the small gestures that made her smile, not that he would ever see, she felt a certain tension in letting him see that he had actually come to mean something to her. The simple way he would cover her over with a blanket when she fell asleep in the window seat, lighting candles with the snap of his fingers because he knew that no matter how often he did, she would always look at it with a sense of mystical wonder.

He hardly ever played with fire, the love for it gone. The only time he brought the glow forth from his hands was when she would sit by the fire, shivering despite the warmth, trying desperately to get the warmth back into her fingers. He would kneel before her, his hands rubbing together slowly, stoking the embers buried beneath his flesh before he held her hands in his, waiting for her shoulders to drop in relief.

There were some nights when she would stare at him, sitting curled into her blankets, her eyes travelling the lines of his face as he read by candlelight, his eyes glittering in the dark, fingers trailing the rim of the glass of wine that sat beside him on the table. It was just a sense of gratefulness, just relief that he had stayed with her that made her heart flutter, that's all it could be, nothing more. Nothing untoward in the way she let her gaze rove over the lines of his body beneath his clothes, simply looking at him, noticing the changes this world had impressed upon him.

She certainly shouldn't think too much of the way her stomach knotted when she had dropped the glass in the kitchen, the way he had come so quickly, making her stay still as he carefully picked up the pieces, his touch gentle as he picked up her feet, his fingers brushing against her skin, checking to make sure she was uninjured, such patience and concern on his face. She could never admit to herself that she would find herself thinking of how he had stood so close, asking if she were alright, his eyes dark as he had looked down at her, and for one terrifyingly exhilarating moment she thought he would kiss her.

But she had said she was fine, her quiet words alleviating his concern, and he had left, leaving her with an odd emptiness that had nothing to do with her parents death.


	5. Chapter 5

"What is he doing?"

Meg looked up from the plate of cookies, licking the crumbs off her fingers as she followed her friends gaze out the back window. She had finally found the strength in herself to allow people round, and Amy had chosen that precise moment to knock on the door. She was Meggie's oldest friend in the town, which wasn't saying much as she had only moved there with her parents a year before she had started university. She had met her when she started working at the local convenience store, a necessary life experience, her father had told her. She had liked Amy the moment she met her, she had a cynicism that Meggie appreciated, a refreshing change from the vacuous high school girls that liked to whisper and sneer at the new home schooled addition to their town. She was one of those people that she could pick up the phone to, not having spoken for years, and nothing would have changed. she was the only one that hadn't badgered her with constant phone calls prying about her well being, questioning her about the man who'd answered the phone, trying to push their way in through the door, their eyes snatching every glimpse of her cluttered living room, desperate for a gleaned piece of gossip to take back to their friends.

She'd come round today, the box of cookies a gift that she admitted she'd only thought of as she'd passed the store and realised she was hungry, but Meg had smiled and appreciated the honesty. They sat together in the kitchen, at the table where her mother and father would spend each morning, the gentle rustle of the newspaper only interrupted by the low conversation as they hit upon an interesting article. They had talked of inconsequential things, who had left the store, which cheerleader had gotten herself pregnant, she had asked her with a brutal observation if she was doing okay because she looked terrible, and Meggie had answered honestly that she wasn't, but in time she would be. The conversation had lulled as their tea became cool enough to drink, the soggy remains of the cookies dusting the bottom of the mugs, and now her focus was drawn to the neat, hedged in garden, to the figure near the fence that separated her house from the fields that led down to the river.

"Something no doubt horrifically dangerous." She muttered, rising slightly in her seat to watch Dustfinger as he rolled up his sleeves. The itch in his hands had become too much as of late, some deep seated urge to throw fire into the night forcing him out into the relative privacy of the garden, snapping his fingers and pushing at the flames with his breath. But years of overlooking his once loved skill and the very real danger that in this world he could not control the flames as well as he could in his own often left her watching him carefully out the corner of her eye. Usually he would just spend the hours spinning weighted sticks, slowly relearning the thrill of whipping the air with fire as an extension of himself.

He must know that she watched him, entranced by the spinning lights as he practiced long into the night, the sight of him lost in his element, a perfection of elegance and grace making her lips curl into a soft smile. Even now she felt an odd comfort watching him carefully tie back his hair, his feet bare in the grass, her smile quickly fading though as she recognised the patterns of his hands rubbing over themselves and she quickly leaned forward and banged on the window, stopping him just in time as he turned his face towards her. She hadn't told him her friend was here, that it probably wasn't a good idea to start calling forth billowing clouds of fire from the ether. He noticed the other figure in the window, brushing his hands hastily against his chest and holding them out to show her the pale skin of his palms, nodding his acquiescence.

Meggie breathed a small sigh of relief, feeling the burning stare of Amy's eyes on her face and the furious blush in caused. She met her eyes over the rim of her mug, the odd frown warranting an explanation. "He's not wearing the right clothes for that trick." She said quietly, which was almost the truth. Dustfinger had a terrible habit of ruining his clothes, singes and scorch marks littering t-shirts and jumpers, but Meggie supposed that she would rather that than the alternative.

"Trick?"

"He…plays with fire." Meggie told her, realising how silly it sounded, the words not enough to describe the beauty and grace of the patterns he made as he moved and turned.

"So, he's what, from the circus?" Amy raised her eyebrow, looking back out at the dark clothed figure.

"Sort of." Meggie breathed softly, remembering when he used to talk about performing, the crowds drawing near, gasping in awe as he entranced them, young and old.

"Oh." Her friend shifted awkwardly in her seat and Meggie realised that she had been making light of the situation. "Wow, bad observation on my part." She smiled at her, obviously hoping she hadn't offended.

Meg waved her hand, throwing off her concern. "Don't worry, it would probably be an affront if he wasn't so bloody good at what he does." She smiled fondly, turning back to look at him, his face the picture of concentration as he had turned instead to swinging the long staff in a particularly dizzying set of moves.

She ignored the silence that followed her remark, choosing instead to watch him, her hands wrapped around the still warm mug in her hands, associating it with the heat that he would form for her when her hands grew cold, still and calmed as they held open whatever book she poured over. She felt the smile spread across her face, unconscious and undeniable.

"You know Meggie…" Amy said slowly, "There's some talk in town…" She paused hesitantly, biting at her lip in an uncharacteristic display of restraint. "About, how odd, well…about how you and…him…"

"Live together?" She finished her awkward sentence, guessing at what she was going to say. She rubbed her hand across her face. "I suppose it is." She said simply. "But right now, it just makes sense." She raised her eyes, looking up and feeling suddenly very tired, maybe she hadn't been ready to let people back into her life. "He's the only thing I have." She admitted quietly, hating the pathetic shape of those words in her mouth as much as the next. "And I'm all he has."

Amy nodded, not in a sympathetic understanding way, but for the want of anything to do in spite of the burning questions Meggie could see fighting to spill from her lips. She didn't have the energy to explain his presence, or the inevitable questions, the lies she would have to tell. What did it matter to her what everyone thought, it wouldn't matter whatever she said, this town loved scandal.

"How old is he?"

Meggie hated her then in that moment, holding back the glare that shone in her eyes as she looked up from where she had been watching her fingers play with the handle of her mug. She wanted to ask why it mattered. But she knew exactly why it mattered.

"I'm not sure." She answered honestly, her voice clipped. She really wasn't, she'd never asked, still faintly disturbed by the fact that he hadn't seemed to have aged a day since she first recalled seeing him all those years ago. She often wondered what that might mean. "Why?"

"No reason." Amy shrugged, her own hands toying with her mug as she held Meggie's eyes with an ominous weight, as though somehow she could see into her mind, could see how sometimes she felt flustered by his scrutinising gaze, or how she would excuse herself from the house under false motives, making unnecessary trips to the shop when really she just needed to escape her own twisted desires.

"It's good though, that you have someone." Those words were spoken with such a clear honesty that Meggie felt her sudden bristling anger fade from her veins, smiling her thanks and trying to ignore the fact that she had even felt herself rise to the bait in the first place.

She didn't stay long after that, she'd only dropped in on her way to work and Meg was glad that her visit were short, not just because she was tired or that the conversation had lulled, but because she missed the quiet, missed the sound of the house creaking and settling as she read, listening to the quiet slide of paper as pages were turned.

He came in when it became too dark to see outside, bringing with him the smell of the night, clean and cold as he collapsed into the chair she now came to think of at his.

She had closed her book carefully, meeting his curious stare, no doubt wondering exactly what she had spoken of. She'd never know that somewhere deep inside him he felt the dark flicker of jealousy that she had conversed so freely with someone else.


	6. Chapter 6

_She wasn't a little girl anymore, not even close._

_The last time he had seen her she had been sixteen, with the fire of youth in her eyes, looking more and more like her own person and not the reflection of her parents. But he hadn't expected the intervening years to have had such a change on her. When he'd seen her that first time, when he'd been tired and worn from the long journey, going over and over the words to explain to her what had happened, he had hardly recognised her. She had grown, her face had lost the roundness of youth, but her eyes were the same, still shining at him with a startling depth of innocence and his heart had been torn that he had been the one to make them dull, to give her the news that made her fold in on herself, her grief and anguish a physical hurt to see._

_He knew then he wouldn't leave, couldn't bring himself to gather what little possessions he owned and take to the road again, besides, he had nowhere to go, no one else in this world. He had known long ago that he wasn't going home, but the brief flicker of hope that somehow Mo would find a way kept his feet moving. But after that day when he was told in broken English by the young man at the police station that the man he had followed for years was dead, that small glimpse of light within him died. He supposed that he could have gone on without them, but the sudden realisation that he was alone had stripped the fight from him, and he remembered a long ago conversation when he had once promised to look after the bookbinders daughter, back in those days when they actually faced dangers with a startling occurrence. The years may have passed, and maybe the agreement no longer stood, but he had thought of her and felt a twist in his heart at the thought of her finding out with no one to turn to, just as alone in this world now as he was._

_To say she unsettled him was an understatement, when he had come to find her he had expected that young girl with her convictions and teenage fire. He didn't know whether it was the news of her parents death or just that she had mellowed with her growing years that made her into a completely different person, one who would hold his eyes with an unquestioning curiosity. She hadn't asked him to stay, but she hadn't asked to leave either, and that was what seated him with an odd disquiet. He certainly didn't know what to make of the fact that she watched him. At first he thought it was because he was still a stranger to her, or maybe because she was trying to read him, to find out what his motivations were, but as the weeks passed, he would find a guarded heat in her pervasive gaze. He wanted to think that he should feel more disturbed by it._

_He found himself doing things for her he'd never done for someone else, not even his own wife, anything to see the softness of her smile lifting the hard lines of her grief. He didn't know why it meant so much to him, to become the subject of her grateful stare, perhaps it was just that no one had looked at him like that since he could remember._

_Maybe that's why he started to practice again, to feel the flames around his fingers, to light up the dark, his eyes on her delighted face just as much as they were on his hands. It was probably why he burnt himself so much, but he didn't mind, it was worth it to give her a distraction, and afterwards to feel her fingers soft and gentle on his hands as she frowned over his burns._

_But what he wanted more than anything, was to deny the way his chest felt tight when she looked up at him in those moments, with her hands warm around his, her fingertips trailing along the inside of his forearm, soothing the ache the fire had brought. He wanted to ignore the way he felt his heart beat, or the way that he knew that should he hold her face in his hands, if he brushed her lips with his, she wouldn't push him away._


	7. Chapter 7

The first night he stayed in her bed was the first time she realised she might actually need him. Not a single night had passed when she hadn't woken in tears, her cheeks wet against the pillow as the dim pallor of her old childhood night light chased away the shadows of her dreams. Sometimes she would see his silhouette in the doorway, obviously having brought him to her with her cries, but there were times when she would softly tread down the stairs, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, tugging them closer as she leant in the doorway and watched him sleep, the hard lines of his face relaxed and peaceful as he breathed. She would think of just how lucky she should feel that she hadn't had to go through all this alone. He didn't have to come back, he certainly didn't have to stay.

And when she had woken that night, with rain and thunder rending the air around her, she had slipped from her sheets, slow and careful footsteps on the stairs, her movements practiced and unhurried as she made her way through the darkened house, the brief flashes of light that tore up the sky casting an icy illumination. She wasn't surprised that he was awake, the noise of the storm and the muggy air made for an uncomfortable night. He looked up at her with a weighted stare, glass of wine halfway to his lips as his eyes travelled the length of her, lingering briefly on the skin of her shoulder, exposed and pale in the cold moonlight, her oversized sweatshirt slipping down her arm. For a moment she itched to pull it up, but the warmth of his eyes on her made her feel human.

She stood immobile for a while, simply looking at him, forcing herself not to chew on her nails as the air between them seemed to grow thick, her breathing hitching as he drained the rest of the glass, placing it with a purposeful air on the low table in front of him. He stood with a grace she didn't know he possessed, turning to face her in the dark, his eyes dark as he waited her out, watching her carefully, because it could only ever be her decision.

She left the doorway, her hands twisting together in front of her chest as she held his gaze, the wooden floor warm beneath her feet as she slowly closed the distance between them, something electric crackling in her veins at the feel of the heat washing from him as she stood before him and she became so very aware that they had never really spoken.

With her lip between her teeth she took his hand, holding it with a trembling uncertainty in hers as she raised her eyes to meet his, to become the focus of his stare, so dark in the shadow of the night that she had to search for the faintest glimmer of light, for any sign of what he might be thinking. But he had always been something of a closed book to her.

He didn't hesitate when she tugged lightly on his hand, turning back towards the stairs and the long slow path that led them to her room.

He said nothing as she slowly pulled off the careworn jumper, tossing it lightly to the floor, her chin raised in an aspect of defiance, although against what she couldn't say. She could feel the tremor in her legs as she stared at him, her entire body aching for him to make his move, and for a moment she felt a crippling self doubt, a vulnerability that made her shiver and quake under his stare, lowering her eyes lest he see their sudden brightness, the shine of tears that had sprung unbidden in the wake of a nervousness she shouldn't feel around him.

His hands were warm around her waist, his arms strong as he held her, his sudden embrace feeling like a drugged relief in her veins as his fingers wove into her hair, holding her close to his chest, the beat of his heart a blessed affirmation of life. She felt herself choke, leaning against him, finally giving in and letting herself go. He picked her up with a gentle elegance, his hold on her tight even as he lay her down, pulling the blankets over them both as she clutched at his chest, her silent tears racking her body as she buried herself further into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and shivering at the feel of his breath against her neck.

"Dustfinger." She whispered his name, quiet in the dark, like a spell or a prayer, a desperate plea for affirmation.

He drew his fingers through her hair, brushing his hand across her cheek and wiping away her tears, his gaze unfocused as he held on to the longing of her hands on him. "I'm here."


	8. Chapter 8

She'd gotten a job as a travel writer some months after, somehow lucking into the position. Her tutors had all told her that she could come back, that she needn't worry about the class work, that she would only need to sit the exams, but Meggie felt that going back would feel somehow wrong, she didn't think she could face sitting in that lecture hall again, the sun slanting through the windows.

The last time she had been happy.

She started out on small pieces, mainly within her own state, sometimes taking trips out to the coast to write up on exclusive golf resorts or quaint little lodges hidden in the foothills of the mountains. Sometimes he would go with her, sitting quietly beside her as she drove, watching the world go by with a fascination that never faded.

She would go out in the day, touring around the tourist sites, making notes and taking photo's, idly framing paragraphs in her head ready for when she returned to the hotel. He was never there when she got back, but it didn't worry her, instead she took the time to write out her article's, struggling to stay within the word limit.

He always came back in the middle of the night, smelling of soot and the outdoors. She never asked him what he did with his time, and he never told her.

She always ordered rooms with twin beds, to ask for anything else would be like drawing a definitive line under an already uncertain relationship. He had never come to her, would instead ready himself for sleep wherever she was not, and wait for her to come for him. She came every night, without fail, her hand seeking his in the dark and drawing him down beside her, her body soft and warm beneath the covers as she settled in against him with a familiarity that he had come to depend on.

Sometimes she would toy with the idea of not reaching out to him at all, just to see what he would do, but she knew, deep down in that small cold part of her heart, that he would leave her to lie alone. It was a depressing truth that clouded the edges of her mind, knowing that night after night she would find herself lying in the arms of a man who was quickly becoming the very reason she got up in the morning, knowing that he only held her because he thought she needed the comfort of another's presence.

So no, nothing more had ever come from it, despite the creeping yearning of her heart. But Meggie wasn't stupid, she knew what whispers followed her around the small town she lived in, of the rumours of that poor young girl and her father's friend. But to look at them one couldn't assume, many would mistake their silence towards each other as animosity, not an unspoken understanding that they never needed words to speak to one another.

She had wanted to refute them, could remember a time when she had caught a look between two women at the market, their sly glances and nudges as they looked at her then him, she had been laughing at him frowning at a pineapple, his face saying it all. She'd wanted to wipe the smirks off their faces, to shout at them and tell them 'so what!', but there was nothing to refute, nothing but the simple comfort of being held in his arms, shielded from her nightmares by the warmth of his embrace.

Sometimes the futility of those thoughts drove her to tears, but she always hid them well, and turned her face from him when he tried to see.


	9. Chapter 9

_It became an almost physical agony for him._

_He would sometimes wake up sore from the force of his restraint, the control he had to keep on himself to stop his hands from holding her closer, to keep from pressing his lips to her neck, to breath in the smell of her skin. It should be enough that she came to him every night, her footsteps muffled on the wooden floor, her hand light on his arm as she drew his gaze, reading the hope in her eyes. Like he could ever say no to her._

_He always felt a sense of self loathing as he followed her to her room, desperately summoning up all the reasons he shouldn't be feeling a thrill of excitement as she slid down his side, her hands tugging up the blankets as she tucked her head into his shoulder, his arm warm around her, fingers itching to move those few inches further down to where her skin would meet his touch. But there were reasons, so many reason. He was too old for her, he was scarred, married, fictional. All of these and more, running frantic circles around in his mind as he lay with her, waiting for her to slowly drift off to sleep, hoping to whatever gods that ruled this world that she couldn't feel the affect she had on his body as she sighed softly against him, her arm wrapping around his waist, her leg worming it's way between his, pulling herself flush against him, her breath hot and damp against his neck._

_But the most painful reason was simply that she didn't love him. Desire, attraction, whatever it was that hazily darkened her eyes sometimes when she looked at him, was one thing, but he would never play with her broken heart, would never take advantage of her naivety. Certain concepts were the same in whatever world you're in, and the notion that in times of grief and desolation one would naturally attach themselves to the nearest source of comfort, seeking approval and whatever kind word or touch they could hope to receive was a simple and effectual truth. Entertaining the thought that she might actually have developed an emotional attachment to him was something that made him growl low in self recrimination._

_He already felt a keen stab of depravity for looking at her as anything other than the daughter of a man who had grown to become his friend. For missing out on those years of her life where she had grown from a girl into a woman, so he could have seen her gradual transition, the soft and slow development of a girl who would always remain a girl in his eyes, instead of the sudden gut clenching realisation that she was beautiful, that she was a woman, so real and separate from that little girl that he wondered exactly when it had happened, knowing that had he been around to see it, he wouldn't find himself staring at the ceiling night after night, waiting for sleep and hoping he didn't dream._

_Because then it would have made it so much easier to be in her life, to support her and comfort her, to be there when she would mutter random thoughts that made no sense other than the obvious feeling that she needed to speak._

_But then he would start to wonder whether he would be there at all. Whether he would have stayed if he hadn't felt he needed to see her everyday in order to breath. And he would have missed all those wonderful moments when for just a second he could lie to himself, and pretend that this was his world, that he belonged here, that she loved him. When she had beamed with pride when she brought home her first published article, the gentle pleasure of the way they moved around the kitchen as they cooked together, when she had quietly and sombrely asked him to read to her, dropping a pillow into his lap and resting her head on him as he had haltingly spoken the words upon the page, none of them making any sense as his mind burnt the image of her smiling sleepily, peacefully dozing in his lap._

_He would have missed that one glorious night, the heavy summer air warm and stuffy long after the sun had set, and she had convinced him to perform, something hidden in her stare as he had stripped himself of his shirt, the light of the fire dancing on his skin and in her eyes. And afterwards, wine and music. Her fingers flipping through her father's old record collection, every song, every tune eliciting a faint smile as the arrangement of melody and voice brought forth some hidden memory, and she had held out her hand to him, pulling him to his feet so that they could stand close, her head resting on his shoulder as they danced in slow circles, his hand covering hers where it lay over his heart._

_Surely it had just been chance that she had chosen that record, there was no way it had been intentional, or perhaps she had forgotten the words, she certainly wouldn't have known that in his mind it was like someone had pulled out every bittersweet emotion and poured them out in song. And if she felt his heart beating out its frantic and hurried rhythm against her palm, she didn't say, instead turning her face so that when she breathed, soft and sweet in the candlelight, it fluttered against his neck. And should anyone have looked in and seen them, his cheek resting against her hair, their arms entwined, eyes closed, they would have had a hard time convincing anyone that it was more than it seemed._

_And the night closed in around them, and the song continued to play._

_'Take my hand…..'_

_'…..take my whole life too'_

**Maybe it's corny, but listen to it with your eyes closed, it just aches 'love'**

**Elvis Presley: I can't help falling in love with you. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Just a quick warning that this chapter is M rated! M!**

**Also, thank you to Alexa Twitch, your reviews are always welcome, thanks also go to Hawk's-GaL4077**

The anniversary of their death loomed close on the horizon, a black date in her heart.

Some days were much easier to bare, especially when the sun shone and she could sit out on the porch, book in hand, ready to read herself into a day dream. But days like this were soul destroying. The final proceeding letters for her inheritance sat spread out on the table, lists of sums and details of the estate in Italy blurring before her eyes. Everything her family owned reduced to a thin stack of paper, clean and impersonal in the harsh light of the overhead lamp. She gathered them up, stacking them and turning them face down. It was as though the finality of the words written on the page brought it all to an end, that the world could forget about them now.

She found him standing in the porch doorway, his foot keeping the screen door open as he looked up at the stars. She knew it was early, she usually only ever went to him in the middle of the night when the cold expanse of her bed became to much for her to bare, needing him to fill the space in her bed and in her heart.

She knew this night was somehow different, could see it from the look in his eyes as he gazed down at her, his hand holding hers gently, his thumb rubbing a maddening circle on her wrist. She couldn't deny the faint thrill that ran through her, couldn't help but realise that most nights now it wasn't anything to do with her parents death that made her go to him, remembering with a clarity the first time she realised that she fit perfectly against him.

She pressed her face against his shoulder, standing with him for just a moment as she questioned her morals, any reasonable argument fleeting and cast away by the gentle press of his hand against her back, holding her like a fragile bird in the circle of his arm.

She swallowed roughly, stepping back and starting for her room, her invitation unsaid but heavily implied. The tension thickening the air between them as he followed her.

She never turned the light on in her room, hating the unnatural glow, preferring instead to let the pale cast of the moon to shine its dismal pallor through her window, turning the world black and white, light and shadow. It was how she saw them, light and dark, her skin pale in the night as she pulled off her shirt, eyes bright as she pulled him close, her fingers curling into the soft wool of his sweater, wanting to rip it from his body, needing to see him.

Maybe he could read her better than she could read him, or maybe she was just very transparent, because no sooner had she thought it did he grip the hem, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion, leaving him open to her gaze, pale and moonlit just as she was. His eyes were dark, unreadable despite the glitter of the night shining in them, something flashing within their depths as she placed her shaking hand on his chest, feeling the unreal heat of his skin beneath her touch as he covered her hand with his.

"What is it you want?" His voice was low and quiet in the dark.

She looked up at him, feeling the faint vibration of restraint of his body under her hand. "I want to feel alive again." She breathed, her lips trembling as she spoke, not quite believing that she had dared let it come to this. She thought she saw him flinch, something that spoke of pain flashing briefly in his eyes as he breathed unsteadily and she was struck with a sudden sense of fragility in the way his shoulders dropped for just a moment.

He hesitated, only for a second, but it was enough for her to think he was going to say no, until he looked at her with the softest, faintest of smiles, his hands warm as he held her face, the gentle reserve of his touch belaying his strength. Her breath shook as he pulled her closer, holding her softly, calming her even as her heart raced, "Are you sure?" the warmth of his breath tumbling over her lips as she closed her eyes.

Every cell in her body reaching out for him, "Yes." A bright pulse of light behind her eyes when he kissed her, his lips soft against hers, that first sweet, tremulous brush melting her heart, so gentle and kind, banishing every dark thought she'd ever had.

Her hands shook as she touched him, fleeting nervous touches that lighted like butterfly kisses as she let her hands travel over his chest, trembling as she reached up, sliding into his hair, pulling it away from his face as he kissed her, his hands low against her back, pressing them close so that she could feel a fire in her nerves everywhere they touched. She gasped at the unadulterated jolt of arousal that pooled tight and dark in her stomach, her lips parting beneath his tongue, giving herself over to him, letting him chase away the dark.

The sheets were cool against her back as he lay her down, the faint shiver they caused soothed by the heat of his hands, smoothing over her skin in a slow and maddening procession, his mouth hot against her neck as she pressed her head back into the pillows, his hands winding into her hair, making her arch up against the solid weight of his body as he lay against her.

She breathed his name, gasping as his teeth grazed along her collarbone, her hands on his back, feeling the muscle move like steel beneath his skin, hot even beneath her fevered touch. She let her eyes slip close, losing herself in the undeniable control he had over her, making her body quiver and shake with the lightest of touches, his fingers dancing over her skin, sliding like silk beneath the lace of her camisole, his eyes on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure that made her sigh, tugging her lip between her teeth as his hand smoothed over her stomach, soft and warm.

She felt her breathing hitch, her eyes suddenly open in the dark as she stared up at him, her hands frozen where they had tightened in his hair. His hand stilled, thumb trailing a delicious path over the soft skin just beneath her breast, she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wondered if he had done something wrong. "I…" She licked her dry lips, swallowing as she doubted whether she should say anything. She reached up, tucking his hair behind his ear and letting the moon shine on his face as he looked down at her, such trust and acceptance written plainly on his face. "I've never done this before." She admitted quietly, her face flaming in the dark, waiting and watching him with a terrified apprehension and embarrassment.

She thought for a moment that he was pulling away, the minute space he put between them felt like miles until he shifted, holding his hand to her face, his thumb drifting over the corner of her lips. He breathed softly, hesitant as he let his shadowed gaze flicker over her face. "We don't have to do this." He whispered quietly.

"I want to…." She muttered softly, hoping he could see the truth in her eyes. "I just thought I should…tell you."

"Meg…"

"Please." She ran her fingertips over his cheek, catching on the sharp lines of his scars, she smiled up at him tremulously. "Please?"

He sighed softly, dropping his forehead to rest on hers so that when he spoke the words fell against her lips. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I trust you." she breathed softly, closing her eyes, wanting to make him believe.

She kissed him when she thought he was about to argue, silencing his doubts and pouring out her need and desperation to have him hold her, for him to tip her head back, his hands in her hair, mouth open and gasping against her neck as he took her.

His hands grew bolder, his touch firmer as he pulled at the thin cotton that hid her from his hungry stare, his hand hot on the curve of her back as she shrugged it off, his mouth joining the paths his fingers made as he traced the lines and curves of her body, tasting every available inch.

She should have known it would be this way with him, temptation and fire in every touch, his fingers burning her as she held his head to her chest, pressing up into his hot kisses, her whispered pleas answered with gentle bites, grazing her skin and making her moan quietly, his hand slipping down, ignoring the barrier of her old gym shorts as he pushed his hand down between her legs, finding her hot and wet under his touch, covering her surprised cry with his mouth as he worked her with an expertise she would never ask how he learned. She whimpered, her hands shaking as she tried to hold him, but she was useless under his skilled touch, reduced to repeating his name, over and over, feeling the way he smiled against her lips as he drove her higher and higher, closer to the edge.

She hissed as he pressed a finger into her, her eyes closed as he hushed her, kissing her cheek, her eyes, everywhere he could reach, distracting her as he added a second, releasing a full throated moan as he pressed against something inside her that made the very stars themselves explode behind her eyes. She breathed his name, begging for more, her body leaning into him, making it easier for him to draw the last of her clothing down over her hips, his fingers lazy as they stroked up the inside of her thigh, leaving her body only to tug at the buttons of his jeans, his blood running hot in his veins as he kissed her, rolling over to cover her body with his.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered softly in her ear, his voice tight with restraint, his arm pressing down against her shoulders where it lay beneath her neck, his fingers bruising as he gripped her shoulder.

"Please don't." She said breathlessly, her hands smoothing down his sides, their path blocked only where her legs pressed against him, his weight cradled between them, his body pressing down against her with a glorious warmth and solidity, his fingers replacing his lips against hers, his dark stare watching with an avid fascination as she lapped at them with her tongue, teeth scraping over his fingertips, making him shudder and sigh, whispering her name as he held her cheek in his hand.

"Look at me." He met her eyes when she did, his conscience clear when he saw the raw hunger that darkened her unfocused stare, he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself had she looked at all afraid.

But it did hurt, and the pain was almost as good at the pleasure, her nails raking his back as he pressed into her, his face buried in her neck as he swore, low and hot, the words caught in her hair.

She could feel every breath he took, every beat of his heart as he held her tight, his hair warm against her neck, like silk against her skin. She felt the pattern of her name pressed against her pulse, the sound of his breathless whisper not meeting her ears, and then covered by her own cry as he moved against her, her hands gripping convulsively to his shoulders, her nails sharp as she ran her fingers through his hair, holding him tightly and pulling him up so she could kiss him, his lips soft, hot and hungry as they moved over hers.

She felt her heart grow warm, the chilling frost that had settled and encased her thawing beneath the glorious heat of his body, banished by the slick friction and the paths of fire that laced their way around her limbs, her hands trembling until he held them with his own, hot and burning, lacing his fingers between hers and pressing them down into the cool sheets, an anchor in the furious storm of desire and ecstasy.

She was blinded, breathless. His mouth open and hot against her neck, his breaths as hurried as hers as together they chased the light in the dark, her legs crossing behind his back, pulling him closer, deeper, his name on her lips. She could feel it coming closer, building and consuming her until every cell vibrated with pure elation, her body leaving the bed as she arched up into him, into his kiss that captured the cry of her release, his hand gripped tight and possessive on the back of her neck, holding her up and wringing the last rays of blinding desire from her as he followed her over the edge.

Her heart had never beat so fast, her body never felt so alive as she lay beneath him, shivering in the wake of such consuming passion. She felt as though she could fly, weightless, held down only by his undeniable strength and solidity.

They lay in stillness for some time, waiting for hearts to slow, for the fever to leave their skin, marking the slow passage of time with gentle touches, her hands brushing his hair from his face where it was pressed into her shoulder, his breath slow and calm, skating across her skin.

For one blissful moment she had forgotten, the bleak and debilitating chill of everything she had lost denied a place in her mind under his careful, gentle touch. It would be far to cliché to say that in that moment she loved him. He had done for her what no book ever could, had allowed her a chance to escape, to fully abandon herself, giving herself over to a sweet oblivion.

She whispered her thanks in the dark, a soft sigh as he drew away from her, turning and falling onto his back with a quiet sound, his eyes closed, hair in disarray. She looked at him closely, at the high flush of colour on his cheeks, the absence of the hard lines that had pulled his face into an almost constant pained expression. The cold white light of the moon smoothed over his skin, making his scars shine. She reached out, fingers still trembling, tracing them lightly, realising with a jolt that they only made him look more beautiful.

"Why did you stay?" She spoke so quietly, her words barely heard in the silence of her room. He lay still, his eyes closed, the dark fan of his lashes a black smudge on his cheek. She didn't think he'd heard her, or maybe he just didn't want to say. She had often wondered what had made him stay, whether it was some misplaced sense of duty, whether he had once made a promise to her father that should something happen he would take care of her. She was more sure that this was the longest he had ever stayed in one place, she had sensed his discomfort, his denial of wanderlust evident in the way he paced, walking barefoot on the grass outside, his eyes trained on the stars. She waited for him to speak, unsure of what it was exactly that she wanted to hear from his lips, that maybe it was more than duty, more than just the human instinct of taking care of someone who had been hurt. She was suddenly desperate for him to say that it was because he cared for her more than he had said.

He sighed, long and pained, his hand reaching up to still hers where it stroked along his cheek. "Because I know what it's like to be alone."


	11. Chapter 11

The morning after they had first slept together she had expected an awkwardness, it would have been only natural, to have found themselves on opposite sides of the breakfast table, avoiding each others eyes. But when the sun had poured in through her window, spreading across her bed in burning slices he had pulled her back down when she started to rise, holding her close in their sleep warm nest of blankets and pillows, holding her gently as she rested her cheek on his chest, letting her know that she didn't need to feel embarrassed, that he didn't judge her for needing an escape from the dark.

She had smiled down at him, wrapping herself in one of the sheets as she gathered up her clothes, trying her hardest not to stare at him, all pale skin and golden hair, looking achingly warm and sleepy. She'd wanted to climb back into the bed, to hold him down as she kissed him, but she'd felt that if she had done that she would have given away too much, that maybe the night had meant more than just physical release.

It should have ended there, that morning. But once those sort of lines had been crossed it was so very hard to go back, especially when she realised he would deny her nothing.

In truth she rarely let herself give in. but she still couldn't give up the feel of him so close to her at night. It was only when she woke in the middle of the night, a soft gasp trailing from her lips as the crashing darkness of her nightmares faded from her mind, leaving the lingering wake of the hollow bleak horror chilling her very soul that she would let herself trail her hand along his side, sliding into the heat between his skin and his shirt, some subconscious signal that would invariably wake him.

He never asked if she were sure, if it was really what she wanted, he trusted her enough now to know what she wanted. And she was glad he didn't speak, didn't question her, because it made the way he kissed her so much more meaningful, as though he sought the answers with the long and demanding press of his lips on hers, in the way she sighed as his hands travelled to all the places he'd learnt so well, the way they moved so well together in the dark.

There were some days when she truly appreciated the silence between them, the fact that he never asked questions, preferring instead to let her divulge whatever stories she wished to share. Because she didn't think she could face telling him certain things. Like how she blushed when she went to the store and Amy asked about him, calling him 'Dusty' and winking at her with a lavicious smile.

Or that every time he drove her to the edge she pulled him down to kiss her, hard and desperate as she forced herself not to say those three words that would damn her, would break her heart when he softly told her that he didn't feel the same.

And when she had driven halfway towards the state line just so she wouldn't have to go the pharmacy in town. The way she had spent the longest three minutes of her life staring at her reflection in the bathroom of a small diner just off the highway, fingers rattling on the cheap wooden basin surround as she tried not to look at the white stick that balanced on the edge of the sink.

She hadn't known whether to laugh or cry when it came out negative, some tiny spark of hope thoroughly crushed with the notion that she wouldn't have a clue how he'd take it. So she had cut her losses and taken the necessary means to make sure it wouldn't happen again, chastising herself for being so stupid in the first place, and if he ever asked her what it was she took every morning, she would just tell him it was a vitamin tablet, because she also wasn't sure how he'd react to knowing that she was purposely against it.

It seemed these days that they lived two separate lives, the days spent quietly reading and writing, sometimes going for a drive for a change of scenery, and the long dark nights spent in the confines of a private world, one where words did not exist and comfort took form in the warm brush of fingertips over sensitised skin, soft kisses that grew more forceful, the air hot and heavy around them. Some nights were darker than others, her hands usually pulling him to cover her, sighing softly against his lips as he took her with a gentle passion, but then there were times when she would wake with the simmering violence of hopelessness in her veins, and she would find herself astride him, his hands hot on her thighs as she pinned him to the bed, dragging her teeth against his neck so she could hear his ragged breaths, pressing down against him and smiling at the response of his body. It was those nights that left her sore, a secret smile on her lips as she moved around the next day, catching site of faint marks left on her skin, the impression of teeth on her shoulder from where he had turned her, his chest pressed against her back, hands laced with hers, his breath hot on the back of her neck as she had cried out his name, pressing her face into the sheets as he'd driven into her hard, giving her exactly what she had asked for when she had woken him with a feral darkness in her eyes.

Most days he was gone when she woke up and it bothered her more than she would let on, but it was the definition in their relationship, separating the light and the dark. But it still stung, building up a wall between them that she wanted to tear down, but to approach him in the day, with no excuse other than lust and desire and that other heart thumping emotion that made her feel so desperately and achingly bittersweet would only result in her being gently held at bay. It was one thing in the black and heavy nights, when dreams merged with reality and he could whisper things that made no sense to her, but in the day, it would be more real somehow. So she continued to deny herself, to take whatever he could offer and ask for no more, not even daring to hope.

She noticed that people had stopped staring, maybe the novelty had worn off, or more likely they had run out of new gossip, either way Meg felt a sense of relief settle in her, no longer anxious of simply wandering around the town. She noticed too that sometimes she would see faces in the gaps of the hedge that surrounded the house, the local children gathering round waiting for Dustfinger to start spinning his fire into the night, their faces shining pale in amongst the leaves. When she first mentioned it to him he seemed put off, scowling darkly until she leaned against him briefly and asked him for her favourite trick, just one more time. And after that it wasn't long until the kids became less fearful, eventually leaning on the fence at the bottom of the garden and staring open mouthed as he formed shapes and told stories with the golden curls of flames. They would grumbles and whine when he packed up, calling over and asking him how he made the fire, and Dustfinger would smile gently and reply, "Magic."

He soon gained himself a reputation, that of a quiet and kind man quite willing to silence the tears of a crying child by producing the gentle rosy glow of fire between his fingers as if from thin air. The people of the town always waved to him now or mentioned to Meg that they had seen him out walking. She always felt a mixed sense of pride when anyone asked about him, their slow but thorough acceptance of him making her finding this small town more of a home than anywhere she had lived before. She found herself smiling more often, her thoughts turning less and less to the still painful memories of her parents.

She lived for the night now, for when it was alright for her to touch him, to go to him in the dark and let herself go, the moon low in the sky and throwing their world into shadow and light, and she could pretend that the silent pattern of his lips on her skin were the quiet attestations of his love for her.

So very different to the day.

Much better than the day.


	12. Chapter 12

"Do you still miss home?" Meg asked one day, regretting it immediately.

She had noticed the way that some days he seemed to be entirely lost in his thoughts, his eyes seeing things that were not in front of his face and she started to wonder if he was seeing his past life, that maybe the time he shared with her were not enough to occupy his thoughts. She'd hardly blame him, she had nothing more to offer him than the mediocre stability of this old house on the outskirts of a small town, nothing compared to the excitement and wonders of his old world.

Some days he was gone for a lot longer than others, when she would hardly see him at all, the daylight hours dragging by with a dullness that quickly began to wear at her nerves. These were the days that she felt a reticence in waking him, feeling more and more selfish for needing him to keep the cold at bay. She wished sometimes that he would talk, that he would tell her what was going on behind his eyes, what it was that made them flash and darken or stare at her with a disquieting guardedness. What it was he thought of when his hands paused as they held her face, the tremble that shook his fingers when they traced the curves of her body.

Some nights he would hold her with a gentle fierceness, would kiss her with a new depth and she could almost believe it wasn't just about sex anymore, that it was love. But whenever she looked up at him, her hands pulling the hair away from his face, his eyes were closed, and it hurt her to think that it wasn't her face he saw, that he thought of someone else.

So when she asked him if he missed home she kind of wished that he would just brush her aside with one of those soft smiles of his, that he would tell her that he never thought of home, that he never thought of _her_.

But he didn't, inclining his head as he looked at her. "Yes."

It was such a simple reply, but it held the weight of a thousand conversations, a multitude of heartbroken dialogues hidden in that one softly breathed word.

Meggie bowed her head, expecting as much and wishing she hadn't asked, she struggled for a moment to find something to say but was saved the awkwardness when he spoke again.

"At least I think I do." He held her eyes when she looked up, he sighed softly and closed the book that he had been reading. "I've been gone for so long I don't even know what home is anymore, whether my memories of it have become softened and idealised, it probably isn't at all how I remember it." He laughed softly, a bitter and ironic sound. "I used to dream about it so much, so bright and vivid that it became hard to separate the dream from reality." he fell silent and the moment stretched and became an eternity.

"And now?" She couldn't help it, asking him.

"Now?" The corners of his lips twitched, very nearly a smile. "I try not to dream."

Something cold and leaden filled her heart at the hopelessness in his voice.

That was the first night she didn't go to him, when she realised how she might be hurting him, that holding her might impress on him the memories of another long ago lost love. She had lain awake all night just thinking about how selfish her actions had been, to think of only herself on not give any thought to how she could be tormenting him. She closed her eyes and wondered with a sharp guilt exactly what he thought of her.

_How could he have told her._

_He couldn't admit that she meant more to him than anything in this world or his, that he would do anything for her, would give everything up for her if only she would ask. But she would never ask, so he would never say. She didn't really need him, not the person he was, just his presence. He knew what he was to her, he was her escape, the only person she could talk to that knew her past._

_So he told her what she expected him to say, and in some part it was the truth, there were things he missed about his world, the colours of the leaves, the smell of the forests, the way he could control the fire so much better. But he wouldn't call it home anymore, because a home is where you longed to be, where your heart called you to, and that place now was this cluttered book lined house where they could pass the days in silence, where he could look up and watch her as she wrote, her fingers tracing out the beautiful lines that he would sometimes read over, marvelling at her command of language._

_He could never tell her that he had fallen so completely and utterly in love with her, lived for those precious moments when she would smile up at him and she was the only thing he could see. That when she woke him in the quiet hours of the night he felt his heart burst with a searing and blinding love that he had to press his face to her neck so she couldn't see it in his eyes._


	13. Chapter 13

**For Hawks GaL and Alexa Twitch: Maybe you won't have to shout at the screen anymore**

The package didn't seem at all consequential when she'd gone to get the mail that morning, nestled in amongst the standard bills and junk mail it sat with an uninterested air. It was only when she turned it over and saw her fathers name that she felt the stirrings of curiosity. She still received mail and letters addressed to him, most from companies or distant contacts that hadn't yet heard of his death, each time one came through it tugged at her heart a little, but she'd never gotten a parcel.

It was a book, it was doubtful it was anything other than a book, her father had an amazing network of people all around the world that would send him old copies and battered books, relics of disassembled libraries and titles that he had once asked about.

The thick brown paper came away easily, ripping clean across the front and revealing the title in one heart stopping, mind freezing moment.

Inkheart.

She almost dropped it, her fingers suddenly numb as she gripped the pristine hardback: First edition, she thought dully. She choked, her legs suddenly giving out from under her and she hit the living room floor hard, the impact shaking free the tears that had formed in the wake of her shock. It was over.

She felt an almost overwhelming hysteria welling up in her chest, her breath suddenly lacking air as she was faced with the agonising truth that it was all over now, he would want to leave, and there was nothing she could do to stop him from leaving, that there was no argument that could keep him here away from the home he had been so desperately trying to get back to for sixteen years.

She shook, pressing the book close to her chest as she felt the first of her tears spill hot and tumbling over her cheeks, her living room blurring behind the wall of tears.

She would be alone now, truly alone, and she knew in that moment that his loss would kill her, would somehow hurt more than her parents because he had become her very heart and soul, her every breath and waking moment was for him.

She could lie, she could pretend that the mail never came today, or that she never received it, things got lost in the post all the time. But she knew she couldn't, to hold something as big as this from him would be the ultimate betrayal, the guilt would burn a hole in her heart, and should he ever find out his hate for her would be a terrifying absolute.

She could see her life without him, cold and empty, endless hours filled with the monotony of simply waiting for the time to pass. And the nights would become agony, with nothing to fill the cracks in her heart. Her tears fell faster, her breaths became more ragged as she tried to breath around her painful sobs.

It was how he found her, hours later, the door shutting softly behind him as he fell to his knees beside her, his hand hot through her shirt as he stroked along the curve of her back as she sat curled up on the floor, her head resting on the arm of the chair, her face awash with tears. She couldn't speak, could only listen and cry as the concern in his voice only highlighted the grief that had begun to envelope her heart. He whispered her name, his hands carefully brushing the hair from her face, wiping at her tears as he tried to get her to look at him, but she couldn't, to look at him now would hurt her more than she could bear, to see his eyes so bright for the last time.

She let her arms unfold, revealing the book that she had clutched so tightly and felt it slip from her fingers as he took it from her, his breath stilling as he turned it over in his hands. It was a moment that lasted an age, and she felt the tears stop as she waited for his reaction, his face expressionless as he stared at the book he held, the one that he had searched the world over for, the one that held the promise of his old life. She didn't know what she expected from him, but she wasn't prepared for when he would walk away from her, the book held tight in his white grip as she watched him leave, her body succumbing once more to the aching misery.

He was gone for what seemed forever, she only realised that he'd left the house when she'd gone to the kitchen to make herself some tea, her throat sore and dry. It had been left on the kitchen table, the dark purple cover glaring up at her with an animosity and malevolence she'd never felt from an inanimate object before. She started to worry when the sky grew dark outside, the day had slipped by with her training her ears to listen out for the smallest of sounds, sometimes finding herself once again overcome when her mind turned invariably back to what would happen when he came back, to the words she would hear fall from his lips when he asked her if she could read him back.

She picked up the book, holding it distrustfully as she flipped through the pages. She had only ever read it once, could barely remember the words and she scanned them now, trying to remember the key points, eyes resting briefly on the woodcut illustrations that marked the chapters, remembering with a stark vividness the sight of those black and white pictures coming to life. At the end of the book she slowed, eyes reading every word and filling with pain as she slowly familiarised herself with the one chapter she had always tried to forget, the words that made up his death had once been imprinted on her mind, the bizarre idea that they could actually happen had once been something that had horrified her, but now they terrified her and she once again wondered whether his time away could actually change the fate that the book had in store for him.

She read over those lines once more and when she looked up he was there, standing like a shadow in the doorway, his hair casting shadows over his face, obscuring whatever emotion he held in his eyes. Meggie sniffed, hastily wiping the back of her sleeve across her face and soaking up the tears as she looked anywhere but at him.

The sound of his footsteps echoed in time with her pounding heart, the trepidation rising in her chest with every step he took that brought him closer, his shadow blocking the light and darkening the pages in front of her. She couldn't look up at him when he spoke, hoping desperately that he couldn't see the tears that shimmered in her eyes or the way they fell on her cheeks when she closed them in anticipation of his damning request.

"I think perhaps that you have misunderstood how I feel about you." He said softly, tugging the book from her unresisting fingers.

Meggie felt a sob tighten her throat, she hadn't realised just how much those words would hurt. She tried to stand, to put some distance between them but he caught her arm when she would have backed away from him. "Meggie…?"

"Please don't." She whispered, finding her voice. She couldn't get her eyes to meet his, so she stared instead at the book, that hateful object that had so thoroughly ruined her life. "I don't think I can hear it right now." She leant against one of the counters when he let go of her.

"Oh." He sounded devastated.

She chanced looking up at him, at the weight that seemed to settle on his shoulders and the way he traced the edges of the books hard covers with his fingertips. He wasn't looking at her, instead he stared at the cover, at the single word that was embossed on the cover. It was as though he was fighting a battle, his body rigid as words formed and died on his lips. "I thought maybe that…" He looked up suddenly, catching her eyes and making her stomach lurch at the depth of hurt layered in their depths. "You seemed so upset that I thought perhaps you…felt…" He sighed roughly and threw the book onto the table, the loud thud it made as it landed punctuated his tight words.

Meggie blinked, the faintest of frowns creasing her brow as she stared at him, still conscious of the way her cheeks felt tight as her tears dried. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his troubled face and the hastily thrown book, his utter disregard at its preservation saying more than his words ever could. "Dustfinger?"

He looked up, arms folded in front of his chest in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. She had a sudden and fleeting impression, a bright spark of hope that maybe she had been wrong. They looked at one another, the seconds slipping by and becoming heated, fairly vibrating with the words left unsaid, such unbearable tension mounting until finally he spoke, his broken whisper filled with such hope and agony that Meggie nearly cried. "Ask me to stay." He closed the distance between them in only two steps, his hands holding hers tightly, clasping them between them as he looked down at her.

"What?" The warring hope and confusion that clawed at her chest made the word shake as it fell from her lips, taken in completely by the encompassing heat of his hands as they held her. She trembled, her legs felt weak as she realised with a flowing warmth that she had been wrong, that she had misread all those far away looks, those darkened glances, that maybe what she had hoped was reciprocated love in those long, slow kisses that he bestowed upon her at night was real. Her hands shook within his, her heart beating frantically in her chest as she read the obvious emotions in his eyes.

"Ask me to stay," He said again, looking desperately hopeful at her face "Tell me that you feel just a fraction of what I…."

She kissed him, hurried and desperate as her heart burst, her hands untangling from his so that she could throw her arms around his neck, capturing the soft exclamation of surprise before he kissed her back, his hands at a loss until she felt them on her back, pulling her tight against him.

"I love you." The words were pressed against her lips and she could taste the truth of them, claimed them and whispered them back, feeling him smile into the kiss, pulling her up against him, almost crushing her in his enthusiasm.

When she cried this time it was because of the ecstatic light that blinded her soul, pressing her face to his chest and laughing through her tears as he held her tight, his muttered words whispering through her hair.

She could feel the difference his admission made, the brush of his lips on hers stirred a fire that burnt so much brighter knowing that he felt the same as her, the gentle way his hands held her face so much more loving, the feel of his fingers sliding into her hair made her heart stutter and stall, the slow roll of her happy tears kissed away.

"Stay?" She whispered against his lips, feeling his hands tighten in her hair. "Please stay."

She shuddered as he kissed a slow and burning path underneath her jaw, his breath hot in her ear as he breathed, "Always."

She gasped as he pressed her back against the counter, the heat of his body seemed new to her, making her sigh and tremble as though this were the first time she had been subject to his pressing ardour. And in theory it was, the confessions of love opened up their hearts anew, revealing new depths of electrifying desire, the heady feeling of wondering hands on her body leaving her breathless.

She shivered as they found their way beneath her shirt, warm and soft against her skin. "Upstairs." She gasped, his hands tugging at her shirt.

"No…here." He grazed his teeth against her neck as she moaned at the raw hunger in his voice, the firmer grip he had on her hips as he suddenly lifted her, placing her gently on the counter top as he claimed her mouth in another sudden and bruising kiss.

She pulled at his clothes, breaking their kiss as she undressed him, tearing at his shirt as he pulled at hers, both items discarded and she could revel in the glorious heat of his skin so warm on hers, his arms strong around her as he dragged her up against him.

She felt drugged, something hot and heavy running in her veins, following the path of his hands as they ran down her back, smoothing gently over her hips, his fingertips burning on her skin as he ran them up her thighs, pulling up her skirt as she wrapped her legs around his waist, breath hitching as he kissed her neck.

"I wanted to tell you for so long." She whispered brokenly, her hands winding into his hair and pulling him back to look at her, punctuating her heartfelt confession with brief distracted kisses. "But I didn't think you would feel the same."

He shook his head briefly, silencing her doubts as he captured her lips in a soft kiss. "The night you came to me, when you trusted me to be the first to touch you…" His eyes were dark with the memory, his hands suddenly tighter on her. "I couldn't have…." He breathed raggedly, pressing his cheek to hers. "I wouldn't have, if I didn't love you."

She kissed his neck, drawing away his hair so she could run her lips over where his heart pulsed beneath his skin. "I loved you then too." She whispered quietly, realising how much time they had missed, sighing hotly, body arching as he did things with his fingers that made her shudder and moan, legs shaking as he lifted her, his nails grazing her skin as he pulled off her underwear, smothering the cries he stirred from her as his hand rubbed against her, feeling the heat of her desire spreading around his fingertips.

"Oh god, please." She gasped, pressing her face to his shoulder, her hands tight on his arms, holding herself up when she would have fallen. She ached for him, entire body thrumming with desire, made sharp and fever hot with the love she felt in every touch, every kiss. Whatever conscious thought she possessed now was in the fumbling motions of her hands as tugged at the waistband of his jeans, her thumb hooking into the soft denim and sliding along his skin, making him twitch and gasp, stealing the breath from her lungs, her fingers trembling with hurried movements as she pulled at the buttons, making his eyes gleam with a barely suppressed fervour. "I need you."

"You have me." He told her breathlessly, and she could hear every meaning in the words, could feel the truth in his kiss as he pressed up into her, releasing a soft sigh of pleasure as she found herself complete. It felt as though they were trying to claim the lost time, to try and turn back the clock so that every kiss was new, meant more because it was the first time. She breathed his name against his lips and felt him sigh in return, his hand warm on the back of her neck as he held her, his kiss deep and full of anguished love as he moved within her, capturing every whimper, every quiet moan. This wasn't sex anymore, this was definitely love, only love could have made her feel this way, like she was flying, held down only by the heat and weight of his hands.

She cried out softly, his hand on the curve of her back as she arched into him, breathing in time to the slow, grinding roll of his hips, the ecstatic friction that built up the fire within her. She felt herself letting go, his hands guiding her down until her back met the cool surface of the counter, her eyes closed as his hands ran in a meandering path, fingers fleeting over her lips before they trailed down her throat, over the smooth skin of her chest before flattening over her stomach, his tongue joining the paths he drew as he leant over her, his hair soft and tickling on her skin. Her hands shook on his shoulders, the back of his neck as he pushed her higher, his obvious desire for her turning her on more than the feel of him driving into her.

She swore, profusely and creatively, mixing in professions of love as he pulled her legs up higher around his waist, the new angle making her see stars, a new and consuming fire burning the air from her lungs and all she could hear were her own restrained cries, her hand reaching back to brace against the wall so she could meet every thrust, could feel it every time he hit that sweet spot inside her, each burning stroke driving her closer, higher, building her up until with a hoarse cry of his name she felt the tide of ecstasy rip through her, the dizzying rapture simmering in her veins as she felt him still against her, his own release making him grab at her, his arms beneath the arch of her back as his love for her fell from his lips, the culmination of his furious longing escaping in that one agonisingly sweet breath.

He slid to the floor, bringing her down with him so that they landed together, her legs still around his waist as she sat in his lap, his face pressed to her shoulder as they both fought for breath, Meggie's head tipped back against the cupboard door, her hand cradling his head as she breathed, the pattern of repeated words faint on her lips as she spoke them, over and over, finally free to say it.

"I love you."


	14. Chapter 14

"I can't believe you thought I'd leave you." He said softly, brushing the hair from her face where she lay, flat out on her back, her chest still heaving.

They had only made it as far as the living room, and that had been hours ago, the time between then and now given up to learning each other anew, enjoying the beautiful novelty of being able to say the words they had repressed for so long, taking their time with slow and gentle kisses, with feather light touches and passionate sighs. She'd always heard of the expression, making love, she'd read it a thousand times in hundreds of books, but she'd never really entertained the concept that there was a distinction. But now she knew, she knew exactly what the difference was when she had pulled him down before the fire, the flames warming their skin and he had taken her with an such an exquisite tenderness that she had felt the tears falling from her eyes, looking up at him and feeling such a fierce love that it turned every one of his touches, his kisses into the physical perfection of adoration, of worship and reverence.

"I would have done it though." She told him quietly, eyes glittering in the firelight as she looked up at him. "If you had asked, I wouldn't have stopped you." She could hear the pain in her voice at just saying those words, and she was grateful for the kiss that quieted her.

He sighed softly, reaching out to pull the blanket from the couch, draping it around them both, over her body that shivered despite the fire. "I gave up on that hope so very long ago." He admitted softly.

"So you would never want to go back?" She looked at him, an air of scepticism in her eyes.

"I can't imagine what there is to go back to." He traced the shadows on her skin. "I've been away so long that I fear everything would have changed, people will have forgotten about me."

Meggie held her hand over his, stilling the motion of his fingertips. She didn't have to ask about who he was referring to, it would be a certainty that his wife would have remarried, his children grown up with families of their own. She searched his face for the flash of pain that their memory would cause, but she found him calm and accepting, meeting her eyes with a honesty and openness that spoke volumes. "And besides," He smiled gently, "I have everything I need right here." His hand flattened over her heart, feeling the slow and steady rhythm of a life that beat only for him.

She smiled, one of happiness and peace, lacing her fingers between his and holding on the burning warmth of his hand. "So you'll stay." She stated softly, it wasn't really a question, it hadn't needed to be from the moment she had gone to him, had leaned into his kiss with a contented sigh and let him hold her in his arms.

"I'll stay." The words were breathed quietly, spoken low near her ear as he pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

"And the book?" She asked, tipping back her head so he could easily follow the line of her throat with his lips.

"Keep it." Airy words between soft kisses. "It'll be an interesting story to tell one day."

Meggie sighed, raking her fingers into his hair as those kisses burnt a path lower, drifting out over her shoulder. "Who on earth would we tell." She smiled.

"Well," He breathed, shifting so that he could lean over her, capturing her lips in a soft and sweet kiss, "I'm sure that at some point our children will want to know where their father came from."

He bit back a smile when her eyes flew open, her shock and hope written plainly on her face. "Children?"

"I'm thinking two, maybe three." He grinned, "But we'll have to see how things go." He kissed the corner of her mouth as she smiled, an infectious delight shining up at him. "So you just let me know when you're ready to stop taking those little pills every morning, hmm?" He watched the blush turn her skin crimson, rising up her cheeks and making her eyes darken when she realised he'd known all along.

"I didn't think you knew…." She bit her lip, damning the flush of her cheeks. "I just thought that…"

"It was smart." He reassured her, his gentle smile banishing the guilt she could have felt.

She laughed sharply, a slight grimace on her face as she recalled her trip out towards the state line, the terror that had gripped her heart as she'd held the test, back when she had thought it would have been something that would driven him away. But he lay with her now, his touch warm and reassuring on her body, as though he couldn't get enough of the feel of her. She wondered now what he would have said had it been different. "You would want that, to have children, to have a family, with me?" She asked him, the slight hint of disbelief edging her voice.

"I want everything with you." Such love and wonder in his voice, "Anything you are willing to give me." He caught her hand from where it stroked casually down his arm, holding it gently and pressing small, soft kisses to each of her fingers. "You've become…everything, to me." He smiled at her suddenly, blinding and beautiful, "And I can say it now."

"You can have it all." She smiled up at him, turning her hand to stroke up his face. "All that's mine to give." She traced her thumb over the scars on his cheek. "You already have my heart." She said lowly.

"I can't imagine how." He shook his head, eyes narrow in soft disbelief as turned his face into her hand, kissing her palm and breathing his words against her skin. "But I'll do anything to keep it." He promised.

"Just stay with me." She told him softly, her fingertips following the dancing shadows on his face, tracing over the soft curve of his lips. She felt her eyes growing heavy, the warmth of the fire and of his body leaning over her filling her exhausted limbs with a blissful lassitude, she curled beneath the blanket they shared, resting her head on his thigh so that she could gaze up at him, at the peace and contentedness on his face as he trailed his fingers through her hair. The day had caught up with her, the emotional upheaval, their physical exertion and the feel of him so warm around her making her smile as she closed her eyes, content enough to listen to him breath, to relax into his unhurried touch, only stirred when some time later he picked her up, blanket and all, carrying her to her room where they curled into each other in the confines of her bed, her arm secure around his waist as she realised that she would never feel cold again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Just something small to finish this off, hope you enjoyed. x**

_'Just stay with me.'_

_Those words would forever echo in his heart, and he had made a promise to keep them, to do anything she asked of him. In time they pulled one another out of the dark. Love, comfort and long fire lit evenings becoming the basis of their world, and though at first there were some frowns and renewed whispers around the town, no one could say it was anything of a surprise, and no one could find the words to say anything derogatory about their obvious love for one another._

_She became everything to him, his very life, every breath that kept him standing, and she always told him the same, whispering the words between light kisses. Their life together was perfection, and he'd held her hand and kissed her brow as she bore their children, three beautiful golden haired angels, all blue eyes and infectious smiles that laughed and played with such imagination. Some days she felt a sadness that her parents would never be able to see the children, and she would lean on him as he held her lightly from behind, his arms circling her waist as they watched them play, giggles and shrieks as they climbed the tree in the garden, swinging from the ropes that dangled from the branches._

_It was always a mixed sadness, knowing that had that tragedy in Italy not occurred all those years ago, he would never had gone to her, would never have sought to comfort her, and they would never have walked the path that would lead them here, to golden afternoons spent down by the river, and warm winter nights curled up by the fire._

_Only one of them inherited her gift, their youngest son, but his control was weak and they had little more to worry about than the occasional trinket turning up in unexpected places. When the children were old enough, they sat them down and told them of their story, had shown them the book and watched as their finger's traced their father's name, a multitude of questions asked that they didn't hesitate to answer, and they spoke with such truth and conviction that they had no choice but to believe._

_And so the years passed, slowly, surely. No more excitement, no more adventures other than the gentle ride of simply being with each other, of creating their own life, their own family, every day starting with a smile and ended with a kiss._


End file.
